


5 Times Spock Encountered Death, And What He Learned

by Rocky_T



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the title says. A "5 Things" fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Lesson

As he did every morning, Spock went out to the garden behind his family’s home. In the distance, the tall craggy sandstone peaks, rising out of the desert, could be dimly seen, set against the stark red sky. Next year, his parents said, he would begin his formal education at the crèche in ShiKahr; now, at age four, the garden was his entire world.

He carefully moved along the raked sand paths, skirting the succulents— those native to Vulcan as well as his mother’s world Terra—seeking a glimpse of I-Chaya. The sehlat had not made an appearance yet this morning. It was not unusual for I-Chaya to have been out hunting during the night, but he had always returned, at the latest, while Spock was eating breakfast, and then they had ventured out into the garden together.

At last he was rewarded by the sight of a patch of fur, partially concealed at the base of a dark-maroon and jade cactus. The sehlat appeared to be asleep.

“I-Chaya,” Spock said, “I have been looking for you. Why did you not join me at breakfast? Was your hunt so successful you had no need of further nourishment?”

The sehlat made no move. Spock frowned.

“I-Chaya,” he said again, and tugged at the fur insistently.  The texture felt right, I-Chaya looked the same as he always did, and yet he did not move.

Spock turned and ran back to the house to fetch his mother.

 “Yes, dear, what it is?” Mother asked, as always looking as though she was smiling, though her mouth remained in a straight line. Spock had gotten used to the fact that Mother was the only person in the household whose emotions showed so clearly. His father and the servants were much more inscrutable. But with Mother, it was always evident where you stood in her estimation, something Spock never failed to find comforting, even when she was displeased with him.

“It is I-Chaya,” Spock said. “He appears to be asleep, or perhaps meditating.” Spock recalled how his father would sit for hours, not moving or responding to outside stimuli, and then arise as refreshed as if he had just gotten out of bed. “He will not move.”

Mother rose to her feet quickly. “Show me.”

Spock led the way swiftly back to the cactus. I-Chaya’s position had not changed.

Mother’s hand hovered over the sehlat and then came down softly. Almost immediately, she lifted her hand once more and turned toward Spock.

“Is he meditating, Mother?” Spock asked. “I did not know that sehlats meditated as Vulcans do. Will he be at it as long as Father usually is? I wish to play with him.”

“Spock,” Mother said, “I-Chaya is not meditating.”

“Is he asleep?”

“No, dear, he is not asleep.” Mother bit her lip. “He is dead.”

Spock stood there, turning over this surprising piece of information to make sense of it. He knew what death was. Only a few months earlier, he had stood with his parents as Saddik, T’Pau’s consort, had made his final journey to Mount Selya.

“What of I-Chaya’s katra Mother?” he asked. And then, at another thought, “Do sehlats have katras?”

Mother moved closer to him. “I don’t know, Spock, if animals have katras.” She repeated what she had said on the earlier occasion. “Not everyone has a katra, dear. Humans have what we call souls. Regardless, I-Chaya was just as alive as you or I. But now that spark of life, whatever it was, is gone.”

“Will it come back? Will I-Chaya then get up and run and play with me, as he always does?”

“No, dear. I-Chaya is dead.” Mother’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and she looked as though she were about to take him in her arms, something she hadn’t done since he had been very small. Vaguely, he recalled his father saying, “Amanda, Spock is not a human child, and he must learn the Vulcan way of things. You are making it much harder for him when you subject him to these physical displays of emotion.”

Spock’s lip trembled. “I do not wish I-Chaya to be dead. Make him alive once more.”

Mother reached out and gently smoothed back his bangs.  Her touch was comforting though her words were not. “I can’t do that, Spock. No one can. Once that spark is gone, there is no way of bringing it back.”

A pang of fierce emotion rose up inside him. Tears threatened, as he contemplated a future empty of I-Chaya.

“I’m so sorry,” Mother said. “I know it hurts.”

“Yes,” Spock said, and was ashamed that it came out in a sob. Vulcans did not cry.

“It hurts because you loved him,” Mother said. “You were together for a long time, and now you will miss him. And it’s all right to feel sad—anything else would deny just how much I-Chaya meant to you.”

“Vulcans do not feel sad,” Spock said, fighting to master himself.

“No,” a new voice said. Spock looked up, surprised to see his father there. “Vulcans do feel, my son. But we have mastered our emotions, rather than allow them to master us.”

Spock looked from one parent to the other. Mother looked as though she were about to say something, but then subsided. Father knelt down so he was level with Spock.

“Mourn your pet sehlat,” Father said, “It is the logical thing to do. And then, when you are finished, you will see that your life goes on.”

“I do not understand,” Spock said.

Father exchanged a glance with Mother. “One day, you will.”


	2. Home Is Where The Heart Is

Vulcan was destroyed.

Over 6 billion Vulcans had died with their planet, their lives snuffed out, their katras irredeemably lost. There had been only a few minutes’ warning. Six billion Vulcans gone…along with one Human woman named Amanda Grayson.

Spock forced his thoughts back to his homeworld. The enormity of that loss was bad enough, overwhelming, devastating. But even that was preferable to contemplating the loss of his mother.

_Six billion Vulcans_ , his mind whispered as he moved mechanically through the ship’s corridors. At any given time, it could be assumed that roughly between 10,000 and 50,000 Vulcans were off-planet. Possibly another few thousand had managed to escape in private crafts when it became clear the planet was in its death-throes. But there was no denying the fact that Vulcan was destroyed, and her people decimated.

_I am a member of an extinct species._

Outwardly calm, he gave orders to scan the vast debris field for any possible survivors. Nero’s ship was gone—where, Spock did not know. Nor did he particularly care. Captain Pike’s orders had been very clear—do not give battle, join the fleet gathering at the Laurentian system. 

“The remnants of the fleet, you mean,” Kirk said, gesturing at the viewscreen, which displayed the devastated hulks of the ships that had been taken unawares by Nero’s attack.

Spock did not look. He had seen enough of that field, and of the aching emptiness in space where the planet had once rotated serenely around its star.

“Spock, you can’t be serious. We have to go after Nero.” Kirk was nothing if not persistent. 

“As I have already made clear, our orders are to proceed to the Laurentian system.”

Spock could do without Kirk’s arrogance, his belligerence in questioning the captain’s authority, the chain of command. That had been Spock’s first impression of the cocky young cadet, an impression that had only been reinforced by recent events. He did not understand why Pike would entrust him with a mission, especially one with so little guaranteed chance of success. True, Kirk and Sulu had nearly succeeded in stopping the destruction. They had stopped the drill--and beamed off of the planet in the nick of time.

Spock had immediately gone to save the Vulcan Council—and his parents. He, too, had nearly been successful.

He pushed down the image of the last look of terror on Amanda’s face as she fell to her death. Already caught in the transporter beam, he had been powerless to save her. Only mere centimeters beyond his grasp, she had slipped away forever. Wordlessly, he pushed past Kirk now, sat in the command chair, and contacted Sickbay for an update on the Vulcan survivors.

He deliberately turned away from the communications station. Without looking, he knew Uhura’s expression was one of deep compassion and sympathy, and that she ached to take him in her arms and tell him she understood, that she was there to comfort him, if only he would let her.

He would not. He could not afford to wallow in emotion under any circumstances, least of all now, when so many were depending on him. He had responsibilities that he must discharge.

“Spock,” Kirk said. “We have to go after Nero.”

Spock felt a sudden wave of anger at this Human. Would he never listen? Harping on something so trivial in the face of disaster, just like the Vulcan Council, retreating into the Hall of Silence at the very moment they should have been ordering and overseeing the planet’s evacuation. 

The rush of emotions was too strong to be forced down. “Get him out of here!” Spock snapped, gesturing at Kirk, now physically incapacitated.

“The brig, Comm—Captain?” the security officer asked.

“Get him off my ship!” Spock said, ignoring the audible gasps around him. It was a drastic measure, he knew, and very nearly unprecedented. But he was captain now, had to command this ship in the way he best saw fit, and he could not do that with Kirk around.

He knew the procedure, could envision them stuffing the insensate Kirk inside an escape pod, setting the controls to home on the nearest (barely) inhabitable planet. Kirk should never have been on board the Enterprise in the first place; it had been a moment of weakness on Pike’s part that had permitted the young man to stay, let alone become so involved in the ship’s command decisions. And there was much good that Kirk could still do, once he reached his destination and would undoubtedly rendezvous with others who had escaped from Vulcan’s destruction.

As ordered, Sulu set course for the Laurentian system.

Spock had regained a measure of his equilibrium when Kirk unexpectedly reappeared on the Enterprise, with another Starfleet officer in tow. Once again, Spock had the sense of events moving too quickly for him to fully grasp.

Striving to keep his voice level—a greater effort than expected—Spock said, “I want to know how you managed to beam aboard this ship while it was in warp.”

Kirk smiled, that same arrogant look that made Spock itch to strike him. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? That I’m not going to tell you. You’re irritated. But what I want to know is, why aren’t you angry or have any emotion over the destruction of your planet, over the murder of your mother?”

The white-hot anger was bubbling up; Spock strove to push it down once more. “You will answer me!”

“You never loved her!”

In a flash, Spock was back in the crèche, a vulnerable child listening to the taunts of the other students about his Human mother. He lashed out violently, striking Kirk, getting his hands around the Human’s neck and squeezing. As from a distance, he saw himself choking Kirk, knew his actions were wrong, but was powerless to stop.

“Spock!”

It was Sarek’s voice that brought him back to himself. Spock forced himself to let go of Kirk, realizing he had nearly killed the man, most probably would have, had not Sarek intervened.

Deeply ashamed, Spock drew himself up to his full height. “Doctor McCoy, you will record that I have declared myself emotionally compromised and unfit for command.” Looking straight ahead he left the bridge, and then in the turbolift, considered where to go. There was nowhere for him to go, nothing for him to do. Nothing that he could do. By his own actions, he had proved himself a danger to those around him. 

Without quite realizing how he got there, he found himself once more in the transporter room, the last place with any echo or resonance of his mother’s presence. “Tell me what to do,” he murmured. “Mother, tell me what to do now that you are gone.”

A small noise made him start. He looked up to see Sarek gazing serenely at him. No, not so serenely. There was more than a hint of emotion in the way the elder Vulcan regarded his son. Embarrassment, shame, anger…Spock no longer could put a name on any of them.

“I am conflicted,” he admitted. Better to acknowledge his shortcomings before Sarek would. Spock knew his conduct had been reprehensible—and indefensible. But he sought to explain anyway. “I feel a rage I cannot control toward Nero over the death of my mother.”

Sarek was silent for so long that Spock began to wonder if his plea for understanding had fallen on deaf ears.

“Your mother,” Sarek said at last. “I believe she would have said not to bother controlling your rage.”

Spock looked at his father in astonishment. “That is not what you said to me years ago.”

“After another outburst of your Human side,” Sarek said, and this time his sadness was palpable. “Spock, I was not entirely truthful to you all those years ago. I married Amanda because I loved her. I too am mourning her now.” Sarek’s gaze wandered to the raised transporter pads and his fingers twitched as if he too was reaching for someone just beyond his grasp. “I have done you a disservice, my son, if I have led you to believe that to be Vulcan is to repress and control your emotions so thoroughly that it is as if they had ceased to exist.”

“And yet I have allowed my emotions to control me,” Spock said, bowing his head once more in shame.

“Only because you gave them no other outlet. The Vulcan heart is very strong; it cannot be denied for long.”

“Then I must allow my emotions to flow freely?” Spock instinctively recoiled.

“You must allow yourself to mourn the loss of your world, your home, and most of all the woman who bore you and gave you life. To do otherwise is a disservice, to her, and to yourself most of all.”

Spock closed his eyes and let himself feel. His earliest memories of his mother sallied forth, a smile, a warmth, a look of love, a softness which belied the steel which lay underneath, an understanding of who and what he was, often before he himself was only beginning to realize. Spock ached as he gave himself up to the emotional storm, until it had passed.

Drained, and yet at the same time curiously relieved, he looked at his father once more. Sarek nodded. “The first, yet not the only time, that you will mourn for her. I myself shall never stop missing her.”

“Even as life goes on?”

“Life will undoubtedly go on, Spock.,” Sarek chided him. “The question that lies before us all is what path shall we take in what remains of our journey.”

“My path…” Spock muttered, remembering once again his outburst on the bridge.

“You are a child of two worlds,” Sarek said to him once again, echoing from the past. “Never forget that.”

With new resolve, Spock hurriedly returned to the bridge. 

He caught the hum of conversation from the command crew even as he entered. He had thought nothing could surprise him anymore, and yet he marveled anew at the resiliency of the Humans, their tenacity—and their refusal to concede defeat even when logic would dictate otherwise.

“We have to intercept Nero’s ship before the Narada can reach Earth,” Kirk said, bending over the starmap.

“The question is how,” Mr. Scott said. “She’s so powerful, she’ll blow us right out of space as soon as she lays eyes on us.”

“If we follow the Narada and stop at Titan's orbit, we can remain undetected by hiding in its magnetic field,” Chekov proposed eagerly.

A chorus of protest met Chekov’s words. Spock raised his voice to make himself heard. “Mr. Chekov’s plan is logical, and will work.”

Kirk shot him a look of disbelief but at the same time said, “So that’s settled. I’ll beam aboard Nero’s ship, steal that black hole device, and we can save Earth.”

“I will go with you,” Spock said.

Kirk looked at him in surprise. “You will?” Spock expected him to add that their proposed course of action was illogical. Instead, Kirk said, “Why do you care?”

“Because I am half Human,” Spock answered. “And Earth is the only home I have left.”


	3. The Needs Of The Many

The cable snapped and Spock plunged headlong into Hell.

It was unsurprising his mind had leaped immediately to the Terran imagery to describe his surroundings, he thought, as he made his way painfully to his feet. The volcanic chamber did indeed resemble the description in a fable he had once been read as a child. Molten lava bubbled in pools at his feet, and flames licked the rocks and other surfaces around him. Despite the heatsuit he wore, he felt perspiration bead at his temples as he looked at the black and red scene through his visor. External temperatures were in excess of 1,433.2 Kelvin; the suit would protect him for 20 minutes, with an additional 10 minutes after loss of consciousness, before actual death.

Despite his hard landing, he was glad to discover that he could move, albeit with difficulty. His side had been badly wrenched when he had made contact with the cavern floor, but he did not think he had broken anything.

His comm unit sounded. “Spock, are you OK?” Uhura asked, her voice frantic.

“Surprisingly, I am…undamaged,” Spock answered. His gaze swept from side to side. Where was the pack containing the unit apparatus? If he did not locate it, his mission would fail. He moved forward another meter; the glare from the flames created odd shadows which hindered rather than helped his vision.

Uhura continued speaking, joined now by Sulu. They were telling him what he already knew, that the cable had broken and he had plummeted into the volcanic core. The shuttlecraft, inadequate for the task from the outset, had been overcome by the ash and fumes and was forced to return to the Enterprise.

The shuttle and its crew were irrelevant at this point, however. He had a mission to accomplish.

At last his patient searching was rewarded, and Spock sighted the small case containing his equipment. He did not need to check his chronometer to know that half of his time had already elapsed. He would lose consciousness in another ten minutes; he had to act now.

Kirk’s voice joined the signal in his ear. “Spock, we’re going to try to get you out of there!”

In the background, he heard the dissenting voices, telling the captain exactly why the first officer could not be retrieved.

“Captain, your efforts are futile,” he started to say.

“Shut up, Spock!” McCoy yelled. “We’re trying to save your life!”

“Give me options, people!” Kirk said. “Tell me how we can beam him aboard!”

“You will be unable to do so,” Spock said, kneeling and beginning to activate the cold fusion sequence. “The Prime Directive clearly states—“ 

“I’m not leaving you there!”

“I am endeavoring to set up the apparatus now,” Spock said. The comm signal was distorted; he was losing them. He keyed in the final digit on the small display screen and was rewarded by the glowing red numbers: 3:00:00…2:59:00…2:58:00…

He sat back on his heels, and then got to his knees, climbing laboriously to his feet once more. He would die upright, as befitted a Starfleet officer. He was aware that he had apparently damaged himself more than he had noted initially. There was a definite seep of blood inside his suit. No matter; his death was inevitable, on several counts.

“The needs of the many…” he said aloud, scarcely aware that he spoke. The plan in its inception had been very simple. The main population of the Nibiru lay in the flood plain of the volcano. Kirk would endeavor to move as many individuals as possible out of harm’s way, and Spock would detonate the cold fusion device and be pulled to safety as the volcanic flow was capped. Now with the unfortunate change in plans, the native population would still be safe, regardless of the fate of one Vulcan science officer. 

His thoughts turned to his former planet, and with a wrenching pain, recalled once more the devastating loss of billions experienced only a short time ago. But New Vulcan was rebuilding; more individuals had survived than had initially been feared. It would take several generations, but eventually the Vulcan species would be brought back from the brink of extinction. His own personal loss was insignificant; in fact, considering the existence of his older doppelganger, the other self that had appeared from the future, the entity known as “Spock” would continue to survive. _“You can be in two places at once_ ,” Spock Prime had told him during their brief meeting in San Francisco. One body would survive, while the other perished saving a people who would otherwise have had no chance.

1:00:00…0:59:00…The numbers were ticking down to his non-existence. He would soon cast aside this mortal coil. He felt a stab of regret, conscious of an overwhelming sense of loss. There was so much he would not experience, would not see, or feel…images jumbled together in his mind, his mother looking at him with loving pride, melding seamlessly into Uhura’s gaze of intense concentration as if she could read his very soul, to Kirk’s cocky grin as he contemplated their next mission, to the cold hard floor of the transporter room and the pad that would forever remain empty, to the look in Sarek’s eyes on the bridge as he contemplated the emotional and volatile being his son had become. What would Sarek’s reaction be to this new loss—would he mourn, or would the situation be tempered by the fact that another Spock would continue to live after? Spock experienced a wave of irrational jealousy of his other self. Jealousy at any time was illogical, but to be jealous of oneself was even more so. 

Another thought arose—how _did_ Sarek relate to the presence of a son, older than he himself was? Spock had not wanted to inquire, had agreed with Spock Prime’s assertion that it was best for the two of them to lead separate lives and for the younger Spock not to become caught up in the realm of might-have-been, comparing and wondering as their life trajectories became ever more divergent. But it was all irrelevant, as that symmetry was coming to a final end.

0:09:00…0:08:00…these were unworthy thoughts to occupy his remaining seconds of consciousness. Spock spread his arms apart, reaching with his mind to the outer limits of the chamber, the planetary atmosphere, the space beyond, willing his katra on its journey.

0:01:00…0:00:00…the chamber dissolved around him…

And he rematerialized on board the Enterprise.

~*~

“Captain, I do not understand how you were able to effect my rescue without exposing the Enterprise to the full view of the natives.”

Kirk waved his hand. “Spock…”

“Captain, the Prime Directive clearly states—“

“A few seconds’ exposure, that’s it, we scooped you up and are on our way. The volcano is capped, the planet is saved…happy ending all around.” Kirk clapped him on the back and continued on his way through the corridor.

“You should not have allowed any considerations to interfere with your orders.” Spock paused. “Any considerations of my probable death were irrelevant.”

“You’re saying you don’t care that you’re alive? Come on, Spock!”

“The needs of the many--,” Spock insisted.

“—outweigh the needs of the one. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard this before.” Kirk rolled his eyes. “But as it turns out, we didn’t have to choose.”

Spock opened his mouth to state that this cavalier attitude on Kirk’s part, his ability to play fast and loose with the rules, had been evident at the very beginning during Cadet Kirk’s taking of the Kobayashi Maru. He looked at the expression on Kirk’s face, and knew it would be a waste of breath. “You simply do not wish to lose.”

“Damn straight. Especially when we’re talking about losing the best damn first officer in the Fleet.”

Spock, unlike his commanding officer, did recognize a no-win scenario when he saw one. He allowed himself a small sigh. “You will at least submit a full report to Starfleet Command?”

“Count on it,” Kirk said.

Spock shook his head, and followed Kirk into the turbolift.


	4. If I Had World Enough And Time

The attack came with no warning.

Kirk had just expressed his skepticism regarding why Harrison had attacked somewhere as public as the Kelvin Memorial Archive. "He would be aware that procedure would call for a summit like this one, attended by the command crews of the top vessels in the Fleet—"

The first blast shattered the plate glass window of the conference chamber. The next caused a major console to erupt. Chaos ensued, with screams sounding, the power flickering, and other smaller explosions resulting in flames dancing across the main axis of the room.

Spock dropped to the floor, and rolled to one side, seeking to make himself as small of a target as possible. Protocol dictated that an officer secured his own position first, and then sought to give aid to any wounded. He raised his head slightly to ascertain the situation, but it was difficult to perceive anything clearly.

He heard a groan, off to his left and began crawling in that direction. That was where Admiral Pike and Kirk had been seated; he could feel his pulse quicken as he made his way over, almost dreading what he would find.

It was Pike. He had taken a major blast full in his chest, and Spock could tell at a glance that any attempts on his part would be futile. Nonetheless, after dragging him to a spot shielded from further blasts, Spock fumbled with the Admiral's blackened jacket, seeking to see the edges of that jagged wound. Foolishly, he tried to hold back the flow of blood which had already reddened the entire area and was streaming over his hands.

Spock rose higher on his knees for a moment, looking for Kirk. Nearby lay a body; his breath caught in his throat, and then he identified it as Captain Abbot, his newly assigned commanding officer of the USS Bradbury. Kirk was nowhere in sight. And then, incredibly, Spock saw a figure firing through the shattered window at the attack vessel hovering just outside and continuing to send blasts into the conference chamber. What in the name of Surak was Kirk trying to do? His whole side was exposed—was he trying to get himself killed?

A gurgling noise brought his attention back to Pike. The admiral was gasping for breath now, his whole body writhing in agony. His blue eyes locked on Spock's, and his lips moved, but no sound emerged. 

Pike was entering his death throes now, still struggling to speak. Instinctively, Spock raised his fingers to Pike's face. _My mind to your mind, your mind to mine._ Dimly, he was aware that the shooting had stopped, and that Kirk had dropped to his knees beside him, his features contorted with loss. But Spock's thoughts were merging with those of Christopher Pike, they were one.

Spock's own eyes opened wide. And then, as abruptly as a knife stroke, he lost contact with the other mind. Pike was dead.

~*~

Although it had been 7.2 years since he had last seen her, Spock immediately recognized the woman whose visage appeared on his comm screen.

"Greetings, Captain," he said formally.

The woman once known as Number One said, "Greetings, Commander. How are you, Spock?"

"I am well, thank you. However, the purpose of this call is unfortunately not a social one."

She nodded. "I heard about the attack on Starfleet HQ. And about Chris."

Spock bowed his head. "Yes, I had imagined you would." An image of her from years earlier rose in his mind unbidden—younger, smiling, her dark hair blowing in the desert wind, then leaning forward and—

He suppressed the memory, which had belonged to Admiral Pike, and said simply, "I grieve with thee."

Although he spoke in High Vulcan, he knew she understood without the necessity of the Universal Translator; among her many accomplishments, Number One was a noted linguist, fluent in over 30 languages and dialects. It had come in handy more than once when they had served together aboard the Edison under Captain Pike's command, Spock as a junior science officer in his first posting fresh from the Academy, she as the ship's astronavigator.

The captain of the Constellation stiffened almost imperceptibly. She had comprehended more than the words Spock had spoken; the meaning behind them was fully understood as well.

"How did you know about Chris and me?" she asked, somewhat unsteadily.

"As the Admiral was dying, I performed a mind meld."

"Why?" she said sharply. "Surely he did not give consent in his condition?" Telepaths were subject to strict regulation of when they could perform invasive acts of the mind; the standards for Starfleet personnel and the diplomatic corps were even higher.

Spock sought to reassure her. "The Admiral was weakened, dying, and yet he was struggling to speak. It was obvious that there was something he was desperate to impart before his death, but no longer had the facility of speech. I meant no harm—it was a gesture meant to offer comfort, to help him communicate what he so clearly desired to say before he expired."

She was silent for a long moment. "I see."

"As soon as I became aware of your importance to him—as more than just a fellow officer who served with him—"

"Then you also saw that what we had ended a long time ago."

"I believe you are mistaken, Captain," Spock said, aware he may have been overstepping the bounds of privacy, yet compelled to press on. "What I saw in the Admiral's mind left no doubt of his feelings for you. The relationship may have formally ended, and yet he never stopped loving you."

Her lips tightened as if she was holding them still by sheer force of will, but her expression did not otherwise change. Illyrians were said to be comparable to Vulcans when it came to suppressing their emotions.

"And what else did you see in his mind?"

Only later would Spock question the propriety of her asking. Now he answered simply, "The Admiral was overcome with surprise that his life was ending. He felt unprepared, angry that death had arrived in such an unexpected manner."

"Starfleet officers are prepared to sacrifice their lives at any moment," she reminded him, somewhat sharply. "This wasn't the first time Chris had faced death; I can't believe he was as unprepared as you believe."

"The Admiral was conscious of an overwhelming urgency, regret over so much he had wanted to accomplish, so much that he _needed_ to accomplish, and yet had run out of time. Regrets over things he had wanted in his personal life, regrets over his professional—"

Spock ground to a halt, as the memories flooded him once more. On the one hand, Pike had been pleased to be given back the Enterprise but at the same time it had come at Kirk's expense. He had a whole host of misgivings and worries when it came to Kirk, regret over having not properly mentored the young man, regret over having not taught him what he needed to be the leader he was destined to one day be, and regret over all at not being able to see him realize his potential.

"He died with many regrets," Spock continued, his voice somewhat harsher as he struggled to repress the external emotions as well as his own. "I would spare him one, if I could. That you would know how much he still cared for you."

She glanced at something out of his vision range, and he was reminded again that she was a busy captain on a mission of her own, one which he had interrupted with his subspace comm. He fully expected her to terminate the conversation, now that he had accomplished his goal.

Instead, her expression softened. "I don't believe in regrets, Spock, and I don't think Chris did either. I think you may be misinterpreting what you saw in his mind." She went on, "Whatever stage we are at in life, there is no need for regret. The process of regret is one that provides nothing but suffering for ourselves as we begin to allow the past to dictate how we should feel now. We had talked about this, he and I. And we agreed that instead, we should use the past as a reference point to understand what adjustments we would like to make moving forward."

"But the Admiral can no longer move forward."

"No, he can't." She looked at him for a long moment. "You have not had much experience with death and loss, have you, Spock?"

"I am Vulcan. I am intimately acquainted with loss."

"Yes, on a planetary scale. I have no doubt you lost several family members, friends, and so on. I don't mean to minimize that loss. But what I meant is you haven't had much experience in seeing comrades and fellow officers die at your side in battle, to wonder what you could have done to save them, to go on and experience, on a daily basis, the hole they are no longer there to fill."

She had a point, he had to admit. The loss of Vulcan, his homeworld—that had been overwhelming and devastating, there was no question. But he had not set foot there since he was 18 years old, had very few ties—and even fewer happy memories—to hold him. Home had meant his parents—his mother, who had always been a source of warmth and emotional support, and his father, who Spock had always had the sense of judging him and finding him wanting. His father was still alive. His mother was not. But neither had been a part of his daily life for a long time now. 

His comrades on the Enterprise were another matter. Uhura, with whom he had a close and intimate relationship, Scott, Sulu, McCoy—even Kirk, he realized with surprise—they could all be realistically called his friends, and he would miss them if they should be parted. Dimly, he recalled their reactions when he had been prepared to give up his life inside the volcano on Nibiru, their insistence on trying to save him. He had given no thought to what his loss would mean to them, and now tried to envision what it would be like if one of them should die.

But this was something to mull over at a different time. He looked at Number One. She undoubtedly would mourn Christopher Pike, but at the same time she would take her feelings of loss and any regrets and use them to propel herself forward. She would keep living, and that in itself would be the greatest tribute she could offer.

"I contacted you to offer comfort, Captain," he said quietly. "But it would appear that you have helped me as well."

She gave one of her rare smiles. "Mentoring was always much more Chris' forte than mine, Spock. But I'm glad I was able to act in his stead."

He held up his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Captain."

She did as well. "Peace and long life to you, Commander."


	5. I am and always shall be your friend.

Spock dropped to his knees with a sinking feeling of déjà vu. Another fallen comrade, mortally wounded. But as he crouched on the floor outside the radiation-filled chamber, Spock knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that _he_ was the one who should have been inside.

He could not say how he knew, and the ghostly image faded as he looked at Kirk's utterly still form. Was he already dead? No, there was a slight flutter of movement, and then Kirk’s hand was raised, painfully, and he stabbed at the control, lowering the containment shield. No further radiation would flood the smaller outer chamber, and the decontamination cycle could commence. Unfortunately, the amount of radiation present had already guaranteed severe damage to its occupant, long before Kirk could be pulled out. Looking at Kirk’s pale skin, Spock could already see the lesions forming. The amount of damage inflicted must be immense, to be manifesting so quickly, thought Spock in a corner of his scientist’s brain, and then that thought was lost as the realization of the moment struck him.

Kirk was dying.

Like Christopher Pike before him, and Admiral Marcus, and an untold number of others. All victims of Khan’s wrath, of the superman’s desperate need to protect his own and inflict harm on all who threatened them. Spock recalled his brief conversation with Spock Prime, about his encounter with Khan in the timestream which was no more. 

_“Did you defeat him?” he had asked his doppelganger._

_Spock Prime had hesitated. “Yes,” he said finally. “But at great personal cost.”_

Spock swallowed. Kirk’s eyes were moving, shifting around unpredictably, as if he was seeking someone or something.

“Jim?” Spock said softly, and then glanced swiftly at the console next to the chamber’s viewport. Yes, the comm was functional. Kirk should be able to hear him—if his hearing was still intact.

A long pause, and then Kirk let out a shuddering breath. “The ship…” The rest of his words were lost in a long spasm of coughing.

“It’s out of danger. You saved us,” Spock said. “You saved us all.”

Once this would have brought a satisfied smirk to Kirk’s face, perhaps accompanied by a slight shrug as if who could have expected anything else. Now Kirk closed his eyes for a moment, as if the effort of speaking was too much for him. 

Spock felt a sudden alarm that Kirk might take his statement as proof that the captain’s work was done, and he could lay aside his duty to the ship and die with a clear conscience. Spock could not define the emotions that swept through him at that moment; all he knew was that he did _not_ want Kirk to die. Not now. Now when they were finally past all their misunderstandings, now that they were truly on their way to building a lasting connection, personal as well as professional.

In his mind’s eye, he saw his doppelganger again. _“A friendship that would define you both…”_ Spock Prime had said, and Spock closed his eyes at the crushing sense of loss.

He opened them to find Kirk’s eyes fixed on him. The irises were cloudy—more signs of radiation damage, he knew—and yet he believed that Kirk could see him. Kirk raised his hand and pressed it against the glass. Without realizing he was moving, Spock raised his hand as well and willed Kirk to feel his physical presence through the partition that separated them.

“Glad you’re here,” Kirk said.

“As am I, Captain,” Spock said.

“Need you…your help…”

Spock waited. The only sound he could hear was his own blood pounding through his ears.

Kirk’s voice was very low, hoarse, and the words were difficult to make out. “Scared…I’m scared, Spock.”

James T. Kirk had always lived his life as if he were immortal. At the very least, his actions had indicated he had not been troubled by the thought of dying. To hear otherwise was disturbing.

“Help me, Spock. Help me not to be…”

Desperately, Spock answered, “I’m here, Jim. I’m here. You are not alone. There is…” He had been about to say there was nothing to be afraid of, that he had been in that position once, in the volcanic core, watching the remaining seconds of his life ticking down. His own last thoughts had been about his katra. But Jim Kirk was human. A memory of his mother’s words from long ago came to him. _“Humans do not have katras.”_ Spock had taken that to mean that when humans died, they were truly gone beyond all recall.

For a split second, the world shifted, and Spock once more saw himself lying inside the radiation chamber. It was _his_ hand, covered in bloody green sores, pressed against the glass, _his_ broken voice striving to speak his final words.

“How can I help you?” he said, as his sight reverted to normal. Normal, but Spock could feel the gathering moisture in his lachrymal ducts, that threatened to blur his vision.

“How do you choose…not to feel?”

“Not to feel?” For a moment, Spock was puzzled, and then it dawned on him. Kirk was asking him how not to feel fear. The proud young captain of the Enterprise didn’t want to spend his last moments grappling with such a demeaning—and unfamiliar—emotion. Or perhaps Kirk wished to stop feeling _everything_. But Kirk’s feelings had always been the foundation for his best actions—he had always led with his heart. Every questionable decision—and yet Kirk’s instincts were true, and he had always been proved correct in the end. To Spock, it was inconceivable that Kirk would want to disown something so inherent to his being. He also felt a pang of regret that he had played the role of the emotionless Vulcan officer so well that Kirk was obviously unaware of what made his first officer tick.

“I do not know,” he said, and experienced an unfamiliar sensation—a single tear tracing a course down his cheek. “Right now, I am failing.”

Kirk’s eyes shifted once more, as if he needed to see the moisture on Spock’s face in order to believe him. More likely, he heard the naked emotion in Spock’s voice, and he gave a slight nod, as if he had finally answered a question that had been troubling him.

“Nibiru,” Kirk whispered. “Want you to know…why I couldn’t let you die…why I went back for you…”

Spock desperately wanted to regain control, to stem the flood of tears that now flowed freely. His voice shook almost as much as Kirk’s as he said, “Because you are my friend.”

“First thing…ever said to me…on Delta Vega…”

“’I am and always shall be your friend,’” Spock finished with him.

As he watched, the light in Kirk’s eyes slowly went out. The captain’s hand dropped to his side, leaving only a trace of blood and sweat against the glass plane.

With exquisite timing, an alarm beeped, signifying that the decontamination cycle was complete. The chamber door automatically slid open.

Spock stepped inside, and reaching out, slowly lowered the lids on the corpse of his friend, and then staggered out into main Engineering once more. He leaned against a column, not seeing the looks of pity on the faces of Scott and Uhura, overcome with his final realization.

Until this moment, he had always believed that his emotions sprang solely from his Human half.


End file.
